--I promised a sequel, and here it is. Enjoy, my lovelies!--

1

Where the Magic Happened

"Alexander, stop it!" Magnus giggled, trying to wriggle away. "That tickles! Knock it off!" He continued to laugh and Alec continued to tickle. Magnus finally grabbed his hands when his sides went numb. "Okay, stop…stop…" he smiled up at him, still chuckling. Alec smiled back, leaning down to kiss him.

"Alright," he said once they broke apart. "Let's start. I want to know everything about you."

"Well, what if I want to know about you?" Magnus retaliated, sitting up on the couch.

"My life won't take nearly as long to tell about as yours will," he sat up, using that puppy dog look he had that worked on Magnus every time. "Please?" Magnus sighed, seeing through what Alec was trying to do, but when he looked at him like that…

"Alright, alright.," he said, appeasing him. "Where do you want me to start?"

"At the beginning." Magnus smiled.

"Alright."


The beginning is always a good place to start.

The world was a different animal eight hundred years ago. The Crusades raged on, serfs worked agonizingly while the royalty sat in their castles without a care.

But I remained naïve to all of this. I had no idea that there was a world past the village I lived in. Hell, I didn't know what the village looked like.

I was damned since my mother gave birth to me. The minister, my father and my mother were the only ones present when the so called miracle happened. When their eyes fell on mine they knew. They knew they had a demon in their midst. Mother screamed. Father jumped away repulsed.

"Kill it!" The minister had bellowed, casting holy water onto me. "Kill the demon before it slaughters us all!"

My father wanted to. He was all for the murder of the monster that I was. My mother stopped him, somehow, someway she did. And from their mercy I was granted my life.

From the earliest memories I had, I was only allowed in a few places. The corner in which I slept and outside in which I was beaten. The corner was cold. Always cold. The few strands of straw on which I laid were nearly always damp and dirty. I was allowed a blanket only in the dead of winter. And it was tattered, frayed and decorated with holes. And my clothes were the same, if not worse.

I taught myself how to speak. I nearly taught myself to walk. Mother would barely ever touch me. And I was lucky if Father spit on me.

Food was scarce. I was lucky to get a crust of bread once a day. Stale, cold. Nothing was ever warm. Nothing. My father struck me whenever he could. Sometimes in a drunken rage, sometimes because he felt like it. He told me I was going to Hell no matter what I did.

"DISGUSTING SPAWN OF SATAN!" He would scream, right before he kicked me in the ribs as hard as he could. I was eight.

He hit Mother often, not as much as he hit me, but often for what she had created. Somehow it was all her fault that I turned out like this. She never called me a name, or struck me, not once. However, she did not stop the cruelty of Father's punishments. Nor did she show any sign that she was my mother. I didn't know what a normal family was supposed to be for centuries to come.

I was told that God hated me. God would surely punish me and send me to the fiery Pit that I was sure to die in. Every day I was told this.

I remember once when I was ten that Father told me I was a monster. He said I should be ashamed.

I kept my eyes down, as usual. If I looked him in the eye he'd break my arm again.

"You should be ashamed, boy!" Never my name. Just boy. He grabbed my arm tight, hard, and dragged me outside.

"No, Father, please!" I begged. He growled, furious, and threw me at the base of a tree that stood a few yards away.

He tied a rope around my wrists too tight, making them bleed. I started to cry, only angering him further. He slapped me, hard, but the tears kept coming. He threw the rest of the rope over a low-hanging branch. It was high enough. High enough to make me stand on the tips of my toes in order to stay up.

With one harsh yank my weak and weary clothes fell away. I was out in the open, exposed and vulnerable. Just a child.

"You show thy Lord your shame," He growled and left me. He left me there. I didn't know what to do. So I cried. I cried and I prayed for redemption. I prayed for mercy. I cried so hard.

Two days past. I stayed out in the open, in the cold until the afternoon of the third day. I started to fight the ropes, ever still weeping. That's when I felt it. For the first time, I felt it.

There was a strange tickle in my hands that grew hot, but not unbearably so. I looked up and saw the blue lightning darting between my fingers. The light burned the ropes, but not me. The rope sizzled and burned away, leaving my skin totally unharmed. I tried to make it stop, tried with all of my might to make it stop.

"Stop, stop, please!" But the bolts just kept going. The rope fell away and I fell to my knees, sobbing. It took me several minutes to notice Mother.

Judging by the look on her face, she'd been standing there for awhile.

I was scared, more scared than I'd veer been. This time, however, it wasn't of my father. It was of myself.

"Wh-what am I?" I cried. She just looked at me. I wept harder when she disappeared inside. I was alone, totally alone. As usual.

What do I do? I thought, trembling. Father will kill me. He will surely kill me for this. I AM a demon!

Something fell with a light rustle behind me. I turned, my eyes blurred with tears. The blanket I was only permitted to have during the winter months was laying next to me, at Mother's feet. She nodded to me when I looked at it. I picked it up, my hands shaking and wrapped it around my shoulders.

"How did you do that?" She asked quietly.

"I d-do not know," I wailed, face in my hands. "Please, M-Mother, kill m-me. Kill me b-before the darkness inside me eradicates y-you all!" She stared at me for a moment, just staring, like she wasn't quite sure how she should proceed.

"I can not kill you," she whispered. I cried still, hating my existence. "You are still my child…Magnus."

That day was very significant for two reasons: I came into my powers, not fully, but I came into them, and I learned my name.

The magical instances did not stop there. A little over a year later, Father and the minister that had birthed me performed an exorcism. They almost drowned me in a vat of holy water, and they would have, if not for the phenomena of the tub exploding. I was tied to the coat hook in my corner after that.

The attempts on my life also followed this incident. The first attempt was as to be expected. The entire able-bodied peoples of the village came to our humble cottage, burst open the door and dragged me outside. Father joined the crowd and melded with them so well he could've been the mob itself.

The villagers had heard legends of me, the demon with a child's face to deceive them all. I was there to rob them of their Godliness and take Christianity away from all of them, damning them to Hell with my temptations. Right, because an eleven year old absolutely knows how to do that. Logic? I think not.

A rope wrapped around my neck. They hauled me by that. I coughed and choked and begged for them to let me go. Then the cries of "Monster!" "Devil!" "Hell-spawn!" "Witch!" and "Demon!" came. They were dragging me to the horrible tree I had been tied naked to a year ago. They were going to hang me.

The men kicked me, laughed at me, spit on me. I sobbed violently, writhing and squirming. But it was fruitless labor. An eleven year old couldn't overpower a large group of full grown men, especially an undernourished one.

"Please! Please, have mercy!"

"How dare you beg for mercy, heathen!" I was hauled to a standing position by foreign hands. The end of the rope was thrown over the tallest branch it could reach.

It was yanked with an amazing amount of force. My feet left the ground and excruciating pain ruptured from my throat. I clawed at the rope that was suffocating me slowly. All I could hear was their laughter and the horrible rushing of my blood in my ears.

My eyes met Mother's. She looked sad, but when she saw I was looking at her she looked away. I was alone. I was totally alone.

I was dying, surrounded by people who wanted me to suffer and die. Just a child…

The fear inside of me grew to immeasurable heights. That's when my hands sparked again. My fingers that had been digging at the rope uselessly suddenly made a difference. The rope started to wither away, just as before. It was burning everything but me.

They screamed. Their fears were confirmed of what I was. And so were mine.

When I hit the ground again I stared at my lit hands in horror, crying. I was a monster. I am a monster.

They tried to hurt me some more. But anytime they came close they were burned. They couldn't touch me. It blistered their fingers to even come close.

They ran away screaming in fear. Father stared at me with a mixture of shock and hatred.

He didn't dare come near me until the lightning died. I was sobbing so hard my chest hurt. I didn't understand what was happening to me. I didn't understand.

Father stalked toward me and grabbed my hair, forcing my face up, a dagger in his hand.

"This ends now!" He bellowed. I shut my eyes as the dagger fell toward me, waiting for the end, and wanting it.

"John, NO!" Mother's voice. It was the loudest I had ever heard her speak. Father turned, incredulous as to what she had said. "Do not kill him. He is only a boy. If you wish to be condemned to eternal damnation then murder him. God does not forgive the slaughter of a child."

He continued to stare at her as if he'd never seen her before. He looked down at me, that usual look of hatred in his eyes, lip curling in a sneer.

I sniffed, tears still rolling down my cheeks. His vice grip tightened on my hair and he dragged me toward the house. I was tied up to my usual place in the corner and left there to shiver and cry softly. Mother and I had a different relationship from there on out. She would still only help me if it was my life which was in jeopardy. She would never touch me or come closer than two feet, but she would save my life with her words.

Father wanted to kill me after the knife someone tried to use melted before it could prick my skin. He almost beat me to death out of fear and loathing when a man's hands that were trying to strangle me turned to sand and fell away.

I was locked in a chest after that. It was small and dark and hot. But at least it was warm. Mother opened the chest for a few minutes at a time when Father was away to give me some air.

And then they tried to burn me. The whole village turned out for the murder of the little devil. It was two years after the first attack on my life. Father jeered and even helped the people that lit the hay and wood at my feet. Mother stood in the back, just watching. I saw a tear on her cheek.

I cried and begged for mercy. Father had no trouble killing me now. I was thirteen. That was a man as far as he was concerned.

I slaughtered them all. With one burst of energy everyone in the village was dead. My ropes were undone, the fire was out, and I was standing alone. The light I had emitted was so bright it hurt my eyes. And when I looked again they were all on the ground, dead. Men, women, children…

I looked around in horror, sobbing. Father was dead. Mother…Mother was dead too.

Oh God, what have I done? I ran. I ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction. And I didn't stop until I found that abandoned building.

I waited for death, Alexander. I wanted to die so very badly. I was a demon, after all. I deserved the fiery eternity I was promised. After all of the people I had murdered it only made sense.

I didn't eat, I didn't look for water. I stayed in my dark corner and sobbed, wanting it to just end.


"What stopped you?" Alec whispered, tears in his eyes as he looked at the tormented warlock in front of him.

Magnus looked up from his hands, a small smile on his lips for the first time since he had began.

"Then Adriana came."

--Alright, chapter numero uno. I know it was hella long but i hope you like it anyway! More soon and tell me what you thought!--